


Master & Music

by Amaradex



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Gen, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, composers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 04:57:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amaradex/pseuds/Amaradex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Johann "Kurt" Hummel is the prodigal student of the ultimate prodigy, Mozart. He's a good composer and an even better pianist, but when the time comes to write a piece in honour of his old master, he's stumped. To make matters worse, he's got competition in the form of Noah van Puckerman, who never met Mozart but seems to be able to channel him in his compositions. Puckerman says he just wants to help Kurt do his piece justice, but Kurt's seen too many musicians betrayed to trust him. Too bad Noah isn't getting the message.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Master

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my beta Karen, who stepped outside her preferred fandom for this. The fact that I don't have a bunch of missing 'f's in this is due to her. The mistakes are all mine.
> 
> The fantastic graphics for this piece and the absolutely amazing fanmix linked both here and at the end are by [patchfire](http://patchfire.livejournal.com/), to whom I owe many thanks. The mix she created helped me struggle through a few of the rough parts while writing this. [Go check it out!](http://patchfire.livejournal.com/767026.html)

 

 

 

****

****

“You can’t just play, you have to create!”

The admonishment echoed through the room, making Kurt tense instinctively.  He dropped his head, only remembering after several moments of silence that he was no longer under the tutelage of his father, but of the much more lax Master Mozart.

“Oui, Monsieur,” he said to the keys, his voice just barely above a whisper.  He knew that M. Mozart wasn’t the sort to beat a pupil, but he also knew that he was disappointing the man.  His fingering was perfect, of course, but he couldn’t understand why he should presume to improve upon the work of a dignitary such as his instructor.

“Hummel, child.”  Mozart sat beside him, gently laying a hand on his back.  Kurt flinched slightly, expecting the sort of rough cuff that his father felt normal and appropriate.  Instead, the composer simply rested his hand steadily along the curve of Kurt’s shoulder blade, conveying support and understanding.

“I don’t know how to improve on what you yourself have written,” Kurt confessed, drawing his knees up to his chin.  His father would be lecturing him on proper comportment and treatment of one’s possessions.  Master Mozart just patted Kurt’s shoulder and smiled at him.

“Then focus on changing it rather than improving, child.  You’re capable of doing this.  I’ve seen you write down your own melodies and variations on the things you hear me play.”  Mozart nudged Kurt over a little bit and took up position on the bench next to him.

“Now, young Master Hummel, shall we play?”  Kurt smiled a little and nodded, once again beginning the ouverture.  Mozart played the bottom clef, leaving the upper stave melody to Kurt.  When they began the allemande, Kurt felt Mozart shift slightly beside him.  A quick glance over at the Master’s hands showed that he was beginning to alter the sixteenth note runs.  Kurt followed suit, matching the raising and dropping that Mozart was doing.  When the Master added in even more variations during the courante, the melody evolved under Kurt’s fingers.  Rather than strictly following what Mozart was doing, he began to insert his own adaptations.  Breaking a quarter note into sixteenths, then following a run up rather than let it drop off halfway.

By the time they had finished the piece, Kurt was breathing heavily, his heart pounding in his chest.  Mozart laughed delightedly, patting Kurt’s back heartily.

“Well done, my boy,” the Master chortled, his cheeks slightly reddened.  “I think that was the perfect note to end our practice for the day.  Go see Constanze for your treat.  I believe she’s made _apfelkuchen_ today.”  Kurt brightened instantly, scampering off the bench and to the door, only remembering to turn and bow politely when he was part way through it.

“Go, child,” Mozart said, waving his hand at Kurt before turning himself back towards the piano.  Kurt did as he was bid, hurrying to the kitchen, his steps accompanied by the sound of the Master playing the piece they had just been practicing with additional flourishes.

Mistress Constanze Mozart was not a soft woman, but she took care of Kurt as though he were her own son.  In fact, she frequently encouraged him to spend time with little Karl, who was just old enough to bang away at the keys of a piano.  Kurt enjoyed having another child around, even if it was one significantly younger than he.  Karl’s presence ensured that Mistress Mozart bought or made a sweet treat almost every day, the young boys’ pleasure enough to soften the lines around her eyes.

“Ah, Kurt!” she said as he slipped into the kitchen, quickly seating himself next to where Karl was playing on the floor.  “I was about to give your apfelkuchen to Karl.”  She winked at Kurt and slid a plate of cake in front of him, ruffling his hair slightly before turning back to the meat pie she was making.  Kurt ate quickly but neatly, enjoying every bite of the cake without lingering over it.  Once he was done, he cleaned his plate and placed it back in its place, then took Karl to the bedroom he was currently staying in.

Kurt didn’t have any toys of his own, but throughout the months that he had been staying with the Mozarts, many of Karl’s had migrated into his room.  None of them were particularly complex or expensive - mostly wooden blocks and soft figures made of knotted fabric - but there were more than Kurt had ever seen outside of stores, and Karl was always happy to have Kurt play with him.  Kurt did feel a bit silly, to be eight years old and still acting like a young child, but he reasoned that he was repaying the Mozarts for their care by ensuring that Karl was out from under Mistress Constanze’s feet for at least a part of the day.  The Mistress was pregnant again, and although she was only just beginning to show physically, she was already getting some of the symptoms of exhaustion and irritability.

“Kur’!”  Karl burbled at him, grinning and popping him on the nose with one of his cloth toys.  Kurt faked a growl and chased Karl around the small room, letting the child win by rolling under the bed.  “I win!” the little boy declared triumphantly, and Kurt laughed.

“Yes, you do.  But if you don’t come out here, I’ll have to play with your toys all by myself.”  Karl made an indignant noise at that and crawled out from under the bed, casting himself carelessly in Kurt’s direction and making the older boy catch him.  As soon as he had his feet under him again, Karl grabbed some of his blocks, beginning to stack them in messy towers.  Kurt helped him, making the towers neater and less likely to collapse whenever the boy had his back turned.  Karl never seemed to notice that his towers changed when he wasn’t looking, and so the two boys played through to dinner.

The arrangement his father had made with Master Mozart was only for one year, but as the seasons turned back toward winter and the year came due, the Master offered to take Kurt on for a second year, to fully refine his composition skills.  Kurt’s father was quick to agree.   _Wunderkind_ pianists weren’t in as high demand anymore, so taking Kurt on a tour at the age of ten wouldn’t be any less effective than at nine.

Kurt was thrilled to be allowed to spend more time with the Mozarts.  Constanze had just had a baby girl, and was greatly appreciative for the help that Kurt provided with Karl.  Master Mozart, while somewhat wrapped up in the delight of Theresia’s birth, was challenging Kurt more and more with every day, asking him to compose full pieces.  He’d even been brought in to play at one of the Master’s concerts.  It wasn’t his first time playing in front of a crowd, but it was beyond a doubt the most formal of any of his presentations.

The one aspect of Kurt’s work that Mozart still hadn’t managed to improve was his ability to suss out what notes in his composition were the discordant and wrong ones.  Every time he found an issue, he would have to sit at the piano for hours on end, playing through attempt after attempt to correct it; never quite sure what would perfect it.  The Master never showed his impatience to Kurt’s face, but he would leave the room for a while if Kurt was taking a long time to sort his work out.

As the months passed by, Kurt got better, but he still could never play through a piece once and instantly know what to fix, the way Mozart could.  The composer finally took pity on Kurt near the start of summer, and told him that he would grow into the ability.  Kurt bit his tongue, refraining from pointing out that the Master himself had been composing purely by ear at half Kurt’s age.  It wasn’t like anyone could compete with the great Wolfgang Amadé Mozart, regardless of age.

Summer signalled the end of Kurt’s time with the Mozarts, and so he slowly began to withdraw himself from the household.  Kurt knew that both Master and Mistress Mozart were reeling from Theresia’s sudden illness, distracting from not only his teaching but from Karl as well, so he did his best to keep the boy occupied while also preparing him for Kurt’s departure.  It was hard, trying to distinguish between what Kurt was doing and what was happening to Theresia (and what had happened to Johann before her), but eventually Karl understood that Kurt was simply going back to his father, and that they could see each other again.

That understanding didn’t stop the tears Karl spilled the day that Kurt’s father arrived to pick him up.  Kurt hugged him, and reassured him that they would see each other, then turned to thank Mistress Constanze for her care of him.  She only put up with his bow for a moment before urging him upright and wrapping him in a hug.  Mozart accepted Kurt’s bow and gratitude, but insisted on shaking his hand as well, his face breaking into something approximating a smile for the first time in weeks.  

Burt offered his hand as well, thanking both Constanze and Mozart for their kindness in taking Kurt in.  Kurt could see that his father had relaxed in the time he had been away, and he dared to hope that maybe their relationship could improve now that he had received some proper tutelage and was more capable.  For the first time, he realized how it must have felt for his father - being the renowned Johannes “Burt” Hummel, director of the Imperial School of Military Music and conductor of their orchestra - to have a son who was surpassing his ability to teach.  Maybe his frustration had been as much at the feeling that he was failing Kurt as it was the other way around.

As Kurt climbed into the carriage beside his father, he felt hope that he hadn’t expected.  He was truly sad to be leaving the Mozarts, especially knowing that their next few months would be hard ones.  Doctors had confirmed that they couldn’t do anything more for Theresia and Mistress Constanze had told him the night before that they were planning on moving out of the city a bit, both for the sake of Karl and any future children and because of concerns over money.  Kurt had seen the darkness and despair in the Master grow over the time he had been there, and he worried that it was the beginning of a downward spiral.  He also knew that he wasn’t able to actually do anything about it, that he would be best to do what Mozart had taught him to do, and play and write and make the people love him as best he could.  That, at least, was something he could do.


	2. London

****

“You’re very good, young Hummel,” a cultured but heavily accented voice said in English.  Kurt turned, smiling, to see William Schuester hovering over him.  He bowed his head politely, then took the man’s hand when it was offered.

“Thank you, Monsieur Schuester,” he said, slipping off the bench and gesturing to the older man to take it if he wished.

“I wanted to speak to you about a piece I’m writing,” Schuester said, sitting down on the bench facing Kurt.  “I’ve been hearing about you from Clementi, listening to you play.  I think you can do it justice.”  His face was honest and open, and despite the fact that he was older than Kurt’s father, the boy felt that he looked both young and vulnerable.

“I’d be honoured to play any of your compositions,” Kurt said, hoping that the true depths of his feelings were conveyed.  Schuester was a long-time friend of Master Mozart, though he’d not been able to visit for many years before Kurt had stayed there.  Kurt wanted to ask about Amadé, who he had written to months ago and never heard back from, but Schuester was continuing on blithely.

“It’s perfect for you to play really.  Entirely piano, of course, with your skills it doesn’t need anything else.  It might be a little old-fashioned for a young lad like you, but I still think it’s worth a go.”  Schuester smiled again, the grin widening when Kurt nodded in agreement.

“You’ll have to arrange a time with my father and Master Clementi, but I doubt that they will hesitate to accommodate you, Monsieur.  Other than that, I would appreciate having a day or two to look over the piece before I am to play it.”  Schuester agreed without a fuss, and Kurt shook his hand in final agreement, then bowed the man out of the parlour.

For several long moments after Schuester left, Kurt stood at the piano, one hand barely brushing the keys.  He knew that what he was being offered was an honour, but he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that he’d hoped for more.  He hadn’t spent his time with Mozart to return to just being a pianist again.  It wasn’t that he didn’t love playing, or even that he didn’t recognize that he’d likely be better off taking work as a pianist as well as focusing on his composition work.  It was just knowing that he _could_ compose, _could_ hold his own - if not with the greats like Mozart and Schuester, then with those like Carl Howell von Dittersdorf, who had talent but no passion.

Kurt sighed, then returned to his practising.  Master Clementi was getting him to refine his playing style a bit, and that seemingly required hours of playing the same piece with different emphases and tempos.  He’d confided in Kurt that he really couldn’t do much more for Kurt’s composition work, not after three years of working on it.  Kurt knew his father intended to move on in the spring, and was actively seeking out options.  Kurt couldn’t help but hope that those took them back to Vienna, where he’d left friends and family, as well as his former Master.  Perhaps Schuester’s interest in having him play was a good thing, in that case.  The composer always seemed to gravitate back to Vienna, as many of them did, and he could likely put in a good word for Kurt with possible Masters or patrons.

Master Schuester brought his own pupil with him when he called on Master Clementi a few days later, a somewhat doltish boy the same age as Kurt.

“Hudson’s a British name, but Finnegan’s Irish,” Kurt said when Schuester and Clementi left the two of them alone to ‘socialize’ while the two Masters discussed more important things.

“My grandmother’s Irish and she rules the family.  My father had to give me an Irish first name or he’d have borne her wrath.  I go by Finn now that she’s dead.”  Kurt raised his eyebrow slightly in surprise.  He hadn’t necessarily been expecting a complete dunce, but he’d thought that Finn would be simple judging by the way he bumbled around.  Instead, he was relatively well-spoken, if not quite up to the level Kurt’s tutors had pushed him to.

“Well, it has been lovely to make your acquaintance, Finn,” Kurt said politely.  “Would you like to play with me?” He gestured to his piano, not quite willing to trust the boy with it on his own yet.  Kurt had never shared well with others, but that rule went double for any instruments he was allowed to use.

"No, thank you.  I would be honoured if you would play, though."  Kurt smiled at Finn, feeling flattered despite himself.  Either Schuester or a member of Hudson's family had taught him how to handle fellow artists.

"Is there anything you would like me to play?" Kurt asked, sitting down at the piano.  He was more accustomed to playing for the rich courtiers than for other musicians but he knew that offering free choice of piece was usually appreciated.

"You compose, right?" Finn asked.  Kurt nodded, feeling a little taken aback.  He was a relative unknown in the composition field, so nobody had ever asked him to play his own work.  He had been composing since he'd arrived in London, so there were pieces he could play, but he wasn't sure if he was willing to debut them in front of another musician.

"Will you play something of your own for me?" Finn asked, and Kurt sighed slightly but unearthed one of his scores from behind the stack of music on the rack.  He never left his work out in the open but he liked to have it around in case inspiration struck him.  The piece he withdrew was more or less complete, though he still felt like he could improve on it given time and more instruction.  Still, for another student it would do to show off what he could do.

Kurt lost himself in the music, focusing on his playing to avoid seeing any judgement there might have been on Finn's face.  Playing had always been his favourite part of music, despite his dedication to learning to be a composer.  There was a certain level of peace in just playing the notes on a page, even if he'd been the one to put them there.

When he was finished, Finn applauded politely, smiling broadly at Kurt as though he had somehow done something amazing.  Kurt bowed his head in combined appreciation and embarrassment, peering up through his lashes at the bigger boy.  Finn went to riffle through the music on the stand, finally pulling out a piano duet that Kurt had learned long ago.

"Do you know this one?" Finn asked, smiling when Kurt nodded.  "Will you play it with me?"  Kurt nodded again, sliding over on the bench to make space for the much bigger boy.  Kurt set the music up in front of the piano, subtly pushing the sheets further over to Finn's side of the bench.  He didn't need the sheet music, hadn't for years, but he wasn't about to show off in front of Finn.

Finn played with more precision than Kurt had expected, his fingers moving neatly on the keys beside Kurt's.  The duet involved a lot of give and take of melody, which was Kurt's usual test of how good whomever he was playing with was.  Finn's ability to handle it without getting in Kurt's way showed more than anything else that he wasn't the kind of dolt he'd originally seemed to be.  Kurt wasn't sure if Finn's appearance of foolishness was Schuester's plan, Finn's, or just happenstance, but it had worked well enough to fool him.

"You're very good," Kurt said politely at the end of the piece, turning slightly so that he could properly observe the other boy's face.  Finn smiled at him without any appearance of duplicity.

"Thank you," he said, his tone warm.  "Master Schuester has been working with me on duet playing.  He says I tend to overrun my partners, so I've been trying to learn to share the music with them rather than trying to lead them in my preferred manner of playing."

"And you've learned quite well from what I just heard, Finn," Schuester said from just behind them, drawing both boys away from their discussion.  Both stood and Kurt bowed formally to the Master, while Finn went to stand by his side.  Master Clementi appeared behind the two guests and bid them farewell politely, Kurt standing awkwardly off to the side.  He took the opportunity to shake Master Schuester’s hand as the two guests left, knowing that the man was his best chance for further opportunities.

The meeting had seemingly gone well, judging by the fact that Master Clementi arranged for a day and a time for Kurt’s performance.  Master Schuester and Finn came over to visit a few more times, the Master bringing the sheets of music for Kurt’s perusal.  Kurt played through the piece repeatedly, regretfully allowing the Master to take the sheets back after each meeting.  Schuester was unwilling to let the music out of his sight for long, so Kurt had to learn it well enough before he was expected to play it for an audience.  Finn mostly sat in the parlour, reading while Kurt practiced.  He would occasionally offer commentary, focusing mostly on tonality.  Kurt’s instinct was to get offended, but he knew that Finn had heard Schuester composing the piece and would likely be aware of how the Master intended it to be played.

The weeks prior to the performance were full for Kurt, not only with practicing Schuester’s sonata but also with a variety of tasks that Clementi had set him.  Kurt could tell that the Master could foresee his departure, though Kurt wasn’t yet to the point of planning it.  His father did seem restless, though, and Kurt had seen Burt speaking with Schuester alone a few times.  Kurt didn’t need to overhear their conversations to know that his father was likely trying to arrange Kurt’s next placement.  Finn had mentioned that Schuester was contemplating setting up something of a school in Vienna, along with Salieri and some of the other Masters.  Kurt was sure that his father was trying to arrange his placement there, and equally sure that his admission would be based on his performance.

Kurt wasn’t the sort to get nervous before playing in front of an audience, which he was thankful for on the day he was set to perform Schuester’s sonata.  He limbered up his fingers early in the morning and spent a few hours playing some of his favourite pieces from his early years of piano.  It was his usual method of preparing for performances, and although the one he was facing down would have more of an impact on his future than any other, he felt his body fall into its accustomed rhythm, taking his mind with it.  By the time he and his father were supposed to leave, Kurt felt completely in control of himself, but still somewhat removed from reality.

That feeling carried through the inevitable socializing before he actually had to play, letting him comment calmly and politely.  He was accustomed to spending time with men and women of power and influence because of his father’s position, but Master Schuester had even more of a draw.  Kurt was sure he’d met at least a few royals by the time Schuester gestured him up onto the dais-like stage.  It didn’t faze him, and he settled himself on the bench lightly, feeling completely at ease.  He waited patiently while the Master introduced both him and the piece, hands already settled on the keys in preparation.

The introduction over and the audience silent, Kurt took one long, deep breath, then began to play, fingers ghosting softly over the keys, feeling out the people watching him.  The song didn’t quite call for the gentleness he was playing it with, but he felt that the room needed it.  As he felt people begin to settle, he allowed the song to pick up, striking each note a little harder until he was playing brightly, allowing the notations on the sheet music to direct him more.  His off-foot tapped in time with the minuettos, and he allowed the rondo to swirl through his entire body, his shoulders shifting from side to side with the notes.

When the last note rang out, Kurt looked up from the keys, his breathing only slightly more laboured than it had been when he'd stated.  Finn was in the front row, so it was to him that Kurt's eyes drifted, and the expression of wonderment on his face surprised Kurt.  He'd been practicing with Finn in the room since he'd first received the sheet music, so he couldn't understand what was so surprising about his performance.  Still, it was a good sign, and not one that Kurt was going to dismiss.  Master Schuester was getting up and coming up the stage stairs, so Kurt looked to him next, trying to determine whether Finn was just a young musician unaccustomed to proper performances, or if he'd truly outdone himself.  Schuester's face wasn't as bright as Finn's, but he still looked quite pleased, and he beamed at Kurt once he realized that he was watching, so things must have gone quite well.

"Well done, young man," Schuester said, leaning over slightly to both pat Kurt on the back and to whisper in his ear.  "Your interpretation of my piece was even better than I'd imagined it.  Clearly your father and Master Clementi weren't over exaggerating your skills.  I do believe you'll be an excellent addition to our work in Vienna."  He patted Kurt's shoulder once more and then continued on to the center of the stage, drawing the audience's eyes to him with a dramatic raising of his arms.  Kurt slipped off the bench and hurried off-stage, heading out of the room to find his father.  He rather thought he had good news, after all.


	3. Travel and Arrival

****

 

They left London on the verge of a hot summer full of the rumours of unrest, Burt planning to lead them on a long winding tour through France and Spain until they finally arrived in Vienna, a year after departure from London and almost six since Kurt had left Master Mozart’s home.  The first few legs of their journey were relatively peaceful.  They stopped in at the country homes of a few friends of both Kurt’s father and the other Masters, not worrying about moving quickly in the encroaching heat of the summer.  The delays were enough for them to hear about the uprising in France, the downfall of the monarchy there.  Musicians were generally considered safe from internal turmoil, but they had been invited to play for some French nobles, and Burt was worried that would be held against them.  The invitation Master Schuester had given them was not time-sensitive, just an open offer to include Kurt in the school they were starting.

They travelled directly from their port of arrival in France into the Austrian Netherlands, not even stopping for rest.  It was well into the depths of the night by the time they felt safe enough to stop, and they had a hard time finding an inn that would let them in, but being well clear of the fighting was enough of a relief that Burt didn’t blink to pay for two nights’ stay.  The next morning, the innkeeper was thrilled to discover that he’d let in two high-class musicians, not the ruffian pair he’d thought they were the night before.  Kurt wasn’t really in the mood for performing, but he let himself be talked into playing a few of the folk songs he’d learned when he was very young.  Although some of them hadn’t travelled far enough from Vienna to be known to most of the other travelers, the rhythms were familiar and the tunes simple enough that a few of the more adventurous sort even danced simple jigs once they had caught the gist of each song.

Their meals that evening were provided compliments of the innkeeper, as thanks for Kurt’s entertainment, and when the evening was winding down, Burt took to the old pianoforte to play some of the beautifully haunting military dirges he’d learned in his youth.  Kurt stood at his father’s shoulder and sang the vocals, grateful that although his voice had broken early, he could very easily handle the soprano parts as though he were still a true treble.  By the end of their round, most of the men in the inn had tears in their eyes, though there was a flurry of wiping and complaining about the fire smoke to deny it.  Burt clapped Kurt’s shoulder with rough approval and went to seek out a drink, leaving the boy to find a seat at one of the tables.  Though several of the guests shifted as he walked by, clearly willing to make space if it were asked for, Kurt chose to take a free spot at the end of one bench, across from another space for his father.

When his father returned, he brought two plates of food with him.  They ate in silence, the rest of the guests on their benches shifting over and leaving them alone.  Kurt wondered if they were intimidated or just trying to be respectful.  It didn’t really make much of a difference to his father he knew, but Kurt had never enjoyed being the sort of musician who solely associated with those who could sponsor him.  Knowing that they would only be there for one more night made it not worth trying to get even some of the guests to view him as a person, though, so Kurt kept his eyes on his plate, only looking up to speak to his father.  As soon as he was able to, he headed up to the room they were renting, wrapping himself in two thick blankets and tucking himself up against the wall.  The bed was more than big enough for both himself and his father, but he’d had his beds to himself for many years except for when they were travelling like this, and he still found it disconcerting to share.

Despite his misgivings, Kurt fell asleep quickly and slept soundly, not even waking when his father joined him hours later.  When he awoke, he was in a much better mood, and he didn’t even mind the fact that they were up, fed, and heading back onto the road before the sun was fully over the horizon.  He knew that it would be a month before they would reach Vienna, more if the weather did not cooperate or they were asked to perform for any of the local lordlings.  Their travel wasn’t pre-planned the way their trip up or the abandoned tour had been.  They could guess at when they would reach their destination, but without the rigidity of Burt’s schedules, guesses were all that they had.  Kurt enjoyed the thought, too used to having to make particular pit stops by particular nights and missing any of the enjoyment that supposedly accompanied travel.

By the seventh day away from the inn, he was revising his opinion.  They had been forced to make camp twice, once because the only inn nearby had filled both its rooms and once because a sudden storm had chased them off the road and delayed them enough that night had fallen while they were still in the middle of nowhere.  The advantage to planned trips that Kurt had never considered was that they all but ensured that one would have a roof over one’s head, if nothing else.  Burt was the sort to only have them ride ten or fifteen miles in a day in order to ensure a comfortable rest each night, and although he still tried to make that happen, things were more out of his control.

They made it to Frankfurt in just under a fortnight, riding their horses as hard as they dared, going to bed sore every night and waking only slightly less so.  Burt knew that one of the noble families living there would be happy to have them stay for a few days in exchange for their music, so he had hastened them along as they grew closer.  The few days before they arrived, they rode from sunup to sunset, only stopping to rest, feed and water the horses enough to keep them healthy.  By the time they settled into the grand house, Kurt was saddle-sore and weary, and he happily let his father take up the performing duties of their first night, not even going to see him in the large ballroom but retreating back to their rooms immediately after eating.

Despite the harrowing days prior to their arrival, Kurt woke up early his first morning in Frankfurt, forcing him to tiptoe around the room so as not to wake his father.  Once he was washed and dressed and suitably presentable, he left the room, allowing his strides to lengthen as he walked down the hallways towards the kitchen.  He could have gone into the formal dining room or the parlour and sought out some of the other high-profile guests or even members of the noble family themselves, but he wanted to explore the city a bit.  Frankfurt was comparable in size to Vienna, and although they’d stopped in previously, he’d never really had the chance to look at more than a few well-known sights.  He often felt that cities were far more like people than most considered.  He’d explored Vienna inside and out during his times there and he knew that the best parts of it were the parts that most of the upper class overlooked or ignored.

And so he stopped in at the kitchens, politely greeting the cooks and general staff as he weaved his way through them, snagging a bun, some cold meats left over from the previous night’s dinner and an apple, smiling at one of the cooks when she tossed him a sweet raisin-studded pastry for his dessert.  He slipped out the kitchen door into the back courtyard, and followed the vague path through animals, people, and refuse until he reached the side door in the ornate iron fence surrounding the property.  He let himself out quietly and followed street after street, not hesitating to peek into corners and down dead end alleys.  He found a small but thriving market that way, and purchased himself a cone of hot nuts from the sole food vendor before wandering along.

Kurt continued to explore the city for the rest of the day, stopping twice more to get himself small treats, never anything substantial but enough to keep him going.  As shadows began to stretch out and the sky above darkened, he started to head back to the estate, arriving just as the lamps outside the front gate were being lit.  He hurried to the table, sliding into the seat next to his father, ducking his head at the look he received from Burt.  He was in time for the meal, even if he’d cut it close, so he simply kept his eyes on his plate until a trencher was placed in front of him.   He served himself a small portion, reminding himself that he would likely be singing as well as playing, and that he wouldn’t want to do so on an overly full stomach.  He passed the meat along to his father, who seemed mollified by both the food and Kurt’s appearance of being apologetic.  They ate in silence, letting the conversation of those beside them flow around them.  Kurt knew that the lack of conversation was part of his father’s mental preparation for a performance, but it chafed at him.  He’d always been talkative, and although he’d learned to tone it down for his father’s sake, he still preferred to actually socialize before he was expected to put on a show.

Their performance that evening went over well regardless, but Burt turned down the option of staying another night, regretfully telling their hosts that they would have to be moving on in the morning.  Kurt didn’t mind the rush, though he knew he didn’t have much of a say in the matter anyway.  Still, he packed up his things that evening, readying himself to leave first thing in the morning.  He even neatened his father’s things, trying to keep them in some kind of order without actually packing them away.  It seemed to do the trick - they were on the road well before lunch, and made good enough time to get to a small hamlet with a modest but mostly empty inn before night fell.

They stopped again in Nuremburg not quite a week later, again staying with nobles that Burt knew for two nights, trading their musical abilities for food, shelter, and some money.  Once again, Kurt’s father didn’t seem inclined to stay any longer than necessary, and they were back on the road by noon of the third day, despite offers of extending their stay from their hosts.  This time Kurt did raise a brief question, not because he liked the family they were staying with in Nuremburg any more than he had the nobles in Frankfurt, but because he felt that the horses deserved at least a little bit more of a break.  His father gave him a look, though, and frowned briefly before simply saying “I miss my family”.  It was enough to snap Kurt’s mouth shut, more honest emotion than he’d heard from Burt in quite some time, and he didn’t even blink when they barely stopped at both Passau and Linz, despite the fact that their horses were beginning to look weary.

A fortnight after leaving Nuremburg, they rode into Vienna covered in dust and swaying in their saddles.  Their home was on the outside of the centre of the city, so they didn’t have to ride through too much bustle.  The dusk was just beginning to descend, the sky a soft purple, when they trotted into the courtyard their family home shared with three others.  Kurt’s younger brother and one of his sisters were out before Kurt could even blink, swarming his father as he quickly dismounted.  Kurt slid off his horse as well and took the reins from his father’s outstretched hand, leading both horses to the small stable.  He’d have time with his family later, but for now he knew his father needed it more.


	4. Introductions

****

Less than a week after returning to Vienna, Kurt was leaving his family’s home again, though this time he wasn’t going far, nor for long.  His father had contacted Master Schuester two days earlier, and they had agreed that Kurt would go to stay with Schuester for a week, then they would decide if he would stay more permanently or travel back and forth, only staying or a night here and there.  Kurt quite bluntly stated that he would probably get very little peace at home with his family, but after years away from them, he didn’t truly mind the distraction.  Still, the option to stay with Schuester on occasion would no doubt come in handy, so he hoped that the offer would be there.

That was all in the future.  For now, Kurt was hugging his youngest sister goodbye, reassuring her that he would be back soon.  It was a poignant reminder of Karl, though she was much older than he had been, and Kurt felt a bit sick or a moment.  Another matter of business that had been taken care of shortly after they’d arrived was his visit to the Mozarts, to keep his promise to Karl as well as to catch the Master up on Kurt’s progress.  That had been the intention, at least, until they finally arrived at the address they had been given to find Constanze, Karl, and baby Franz still in grieving, six months after Amadé’s death.  Kurt had been badly shocked, and although he’d been able to give his condolences to the Mistress and spend some time with Karl, he still hadn’t fully processed it by the time they left.  Even days later, his head still whirled at the thought.

Despite still feeling off, Kurt pulled himself together by the time he arrived at the large manor house belonging to Schuester, and he was smiling when the Master entered into the foyer to greet him.  Behind Schuester trailed Hudson, and another young man within a few years of Kurt’s age, who seemed small in Finn’s shadow.  It was only when he stepped forward to shake Kurt’s hand after being introduced as ‘Noah van Puckerman’ that Kurt really assessed him, and found that he was a strongly built man, one with surprisingly curly hair.  He wore it shorter than was the current fashion, just long enough to curl, but not enough to cover the nape of his neck or the tips of his ears.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Kurt said politely.  “And to see you again, Finn.”  He shook the taller man’s hand, grinning when Finn also clapped his shoulder.  Puckerman only gave him a polite nod, though his posture loosened slightly when Finn showed such obvious affection for Kurt.  From the way the two of them interacted, it was clear they were good friends and trusted one another implicitly.  Kurt hoped that there would be other members of the school, as he knew he would feel left out if he was always interacting with Finn and Puckerman.

“I’ll be having you three work on each others’ compositions, playing through them and editing them,” Schuester announced after a few moments of awkward silence.  “You will likely all work differently, given that you have each studied with different Masters.  I want to see if you can learn techniques from each other and improve all of your work.”  He grinned expectantly at the three of them, and Kurt just blinked back, mildly shocked.  He’d known that Schuester had intended to have him working with the other students, but he hadn’t expected to be teaching them the things he had learned from Mozart.  He wasn’t even entirely sure he _could_ teach any of what he’d learned over those two years, though he was willing to try, if only to preserve some of his Master’s spirit.

“Hummel and I should work together first,” Puckerman said as soon as Schuester left, turning to face Finn.  “You two have had a chance to listen to one another play and critiqued compositions.  We don’t know anything about one another.”  He turned to Kurt and arched an eyebrow, somehow managing to simultaneously look challenging and honestly hopeful.  Kurt ducked his head and nodded, unsure of what to expect but still seeing the sense in Puckerman’s suggestion.

“Surely Finn can listen to both of us, to provide additional critique,” he supplied, nodding at the taller man and smiling when he lit up.  Puckerman briefly looked like he was going to argue against it, but clearly decided that his friend’s happiness was more important than whatever he had thought might be a problem.

“Of course.  The more of us there are, the more we can learn,” he said, giving a brief jerk of his head and leading the three of them to a room just off the drawing room, which was already set up with two pianos and a viola sitting in the corner that Kurt gave a look before sitting on one of the wooden chairs off to the side.

“Don’t get too comfortable there,” Puckerman said, gesturing to one of the piano benches.  “You’re going to play for me first.  Whatever you want, just so long as it’s something you wrote on your own. I want to get a sense of your style.” Kurt nodded and moved over to the piano, sitting down and then hesitating, unsure of what he should play.  He’d brought his compositions with him, each written down neatly on expensive paper with pure black ink, but he felt like Puckerman would be unimpressed if he played from sheet music rather than from his own memory. Taking a deep breath, he brought the first of his pieces he could think of to his mind and turned around.

He had to improvise at one point, a couple of notes he knew were missing but couldn’t quite remember what exactly they were, but he played through the entire piece with no hesitation, simply losing himself in the music, using his knowledge of what it should sound like to direct his fingers. It wasn’t his best work, almost three years old and written when he was still experimenting with what he felt comfortable with in composition, but it was representative of most of his style.

“Well that’s interesting,” Puckerman said in a dry voice once Kurt had finished playing. Kurt whirled around, his mouth already open to ask the man what he meant when Puckerman held up his hands in a placating gesture.

“Not in a bad way. It’s just interesting that you studied with Mozart and yet your style is so completely different. I actually quite like it.” Kurt glared for a moment longer, then looked back at the piano, feeling a twisting in his chest.

“Master Amadé tried to teach me how to work like him, but I never could get the hang of it,” he said, somewhat defensive.

“It’s good that you have your own style,” Finn said. “Master Schuester keeps telling me that I have to develop away from him, because otherwise I’ll never be known as anything other than his protégé.”

“Salieri said the same thing to me. It’s part of the reason I agreed to do this. As much as I respect my Master, I don’t want my music to end up just like his. I needed more influences, things I hadn’t heard before. I’m just sorry that I never got to study under Mozart,” Puckerman smiled ruefully at Kurt. “I’ll admit, I truly hoped that you would work with us so that I could learn from him by proxy.”

“I’m sorry I’m not more like my Master for your sake, then,” Kurt said, unsure of whether he felt flattered or offended. He could pass on most of the things his Master had taught him if they wanted, but Puckerman had asked him to play his own music, and he was not like Mozart in that way.

“I’m sure you learned plenty from him that you can pass on to us when the time comes,” Puckerman said. “If anything, you having your own style will give us even more new information and technique, because we can learn what you do as well as what your Master taught you to do.”

“The teaching will work both ways, though, won’t it?” Kurt asked, a gentle prod for Puckerman to display his own talents. It worked – Puckerman stood and headed over to the viola, much to Kurt’s surprise. He couldn’t imagine how the instrument could carry an entire piece on its own – it wasn’t a violin, after all, or even a flute. He hid his doubts, though, and composed himself into an attentive pose, raising an eyebrow at Puckerman expectantly. The man smirked at him, then set his bow to the strings of his instrument and began to play.

It wasn’t the quality of Mozart’s later works, or even the piece that Schuester had written for Kurt to play, but Puckerman’s composition made the viola sing in a way Kurt hadn’t known was possible. It was exciting, moving quickly, taking advantage of the deep tones of the instrument rather than letting them dampen the sound. Puckerman played with the deftness of a master, the viola clearly his first love and instrument in the way the piano was Kurt’s.

“That was very impressive,” Kurt said when Puckerman was done, nodding at the abbreviated formal bow the man gave as he stood. It, along with the way Puckerman played, told him that he had also been raised in a musical family to perform at a very young age. Puckerman smiled ruefully, knowing that he had been caught.

“You too?” he asked, coming to sit in the chair next to Kurt’s. Kurt nodded while Finn looked on with a confused expression.

“My father started my musical education when I was two,” Kurt offered. “I’m lucky that I took to the piano as well as I did. He had me giving concerts for family members and friends by the time I was six, and he was disappointed that I hadn’t outdone Mozart himself.”  Puckerman snorted, leaning comfortably against the back of the chair.

“And of course any mistake you made was a personal affront against his skills,” Kurt nodded, though he hesitated.

“He was always very disappointed, but he did understand that I couldn’t be perfect.  He could admit that he wasn’t any better at my age, and quite likely worse.”  Kurt smiled gently, thinking fondly of the times that his father _had_ praised him.

“Not so much for me,” Puckerman said resentfully.  “My father was always convinced that I just wasn’t trying hard enough, working long enough to be the success he just knew that I could be.”  Kurt frowned at Puckerman’s sardonic snort.

“That’s not right,” Kurt said sharply.  “You’re clearly very talented if you’re here.”

“Not talented enough to be Mozart’s pupil.”  Kurt blinked, feeling his heart plummet into his stomach.

“But somehow I was,” he said bluntly, feeling even worse when Puckerman nodded.

“And it’s your job to honour him,” the man said, his lips curling into a somewhat bitter smile.


	5. Composition

****

Kurt played through his rondo for the second time, huffing in irritation when he heard the discordance again.  He’d thought that the f-sharp would have evened things out, but it had only made them worse.  He took his rubber to the notation, vigorously tackling the lead until he was left with a clean space where the problematic note had previously sat.

“You’re never going to get anywhere if you keep fiddling with it one note at a time,” a voice said from behind him, drawing Kurt away from the piano forte.

“Not all of us can simply wave our hands and have our compositions write themselves, Puckerman,” Kurt said, eyeing the older man disdainfully.  Puckerman shook his head, smirking as he gestured for Kurt to slide over on the bench.  Kurt frowned, but pushed to the side nonetheless, arching his eyebrow expectantly at Puckerman.

“You can’t just do it by ear,” the composer said, pulling Kurt’s score over to his side of the stand and scanning it quickly.  “You have to be able to play it through in your mind and figure out where you’re going wrong before you write it down.”

“That’s not how I was taught,” Kurt said indignantly, helping Puckerman set the score up neatly.

“You were taught by one of the most intuitive composers of our time,” Noah responded simply, beginning a few bars before the end of the adagio.  He played through with near perfection, dropping the f-sharp down to an e, resolving the discordance, then added a flourish at the end of the section.

“You’re fighting against your nature,” he finally said, leaning his shoulder against Kurt’s gently.  “You can’t do this just by trying and failing, by hearing it.  That’s not how you work.”

“That’s how you work.  That’s how Amadé worked.”

“You’re not either of us.”  Puckerman’s voice was flat, but not judgemental.  “You are not your mentor and you are certainly not me.  Why try to be?”

“You are allowing Schuester to make you into an heir to Mozart,” Kurt said accusingly, playing through Puckerman’s alteration mindlessly.

“I was close enough, and I have chosen to honour him in this way.  I won’t always like him.  Not once I’ve established myself in my own right.”  Puckerman tapped mindlessly on the keys of the piano for a moment, then turned back to Kurt.  “You’re young still.  Talk to Schuester, he’ll teach you properly for your style and abilities.  I’ll support you if you need it.”

“You’re not that much older than me,” Kurt snapped, bristling at the implication that he was a child.  Puckerman laughed dryly.

“Not in years, no, but I’ve had a good number of experiences that have aged me,” he said.  Kurt flinched slightly at the reminder of what he’d learned about Puckerman’s history.  He’d thought his father was harsh, but he couldn’t even begin to comprehend the sorts of things that Puckerman had gone through.  He avoided thinking about the fact that he was part of the reason that Puckerman’s father had treated him so poorly – that his being with Mozart was both the reason the man had thought his son could study with the Master and the reason he actually couldn’t.

And now Kurt was expected to compose a piece in memory of his Master and was failing to do the man justice, all the while Puckerman was the one who could compose pieces worthy of Mozart’s greatness.  Speaking of which…

“If you don’t think I need to be like Mozart then why are you so insistent that I work on a memorial piece for him?” Kurt asked, knowing that he sounded more pathetic than indignant.

“I never said it had to be just like his work,” Puckerman protested.  “You should honour him by showing how well you’ve developed your own style, how well his teaching has both influenced you and yet allowed you to grow on your own.”

“And yet I can’t write anything that’s even close to good enough!” Kurt half-yelled, just barely stopping himself from slamming his fist down on the piano’s lid.  He felt a flash of shame at his behaviour, but the anger that was still pulsing through him wiped most of it away.  He knew that he was angry mostly at himself and his inability to complete what should be a possible, if not simple, task, but he allowed it to flare up at Puckerman.  For the past week and a half since he’d mentioned it, Kurt had been trying to work with Puckerman to develop his piece, and Puckerman had been dodging him at every turn, alternating between putting him off and outright denying his help.

“Why would you set me such a task and then not even help me?!” Kurt continued, his voice pitching up with strain.  Puckerman stared at him boldly for a moment, then sighed.

“Because you would resent me later if I did help you.”  Kurt blinked in shock, not having expected that answer.

“Why would I resent you?” he asked, trying to come across as genuinely as he could.  He couldn’t comprehend resenting Puckerman for his help considering the man was much more capable of doing Mozart justice.  If it weren’t for the fact that he was the one expected to put out the piece, he would have let Puckerman compose the entire thing and give him the credit and attention.  He’d become more and more disillusioned with composing while trying to write his piece for Mozart, and he had begun to consider leaving the school and making his living as a performer rather than a composer.  It would disappoint his father, undoubtedly, but he thought that his failure would be just as much of a disappointment.

“This is going to be your best chance to write something that will get you noticed.  Mozart was well known enough that a piece in memorial of him by his pupil will draw attention even if it’s poorly written.  Write something that is well-liked and you will open many doors for yourself.”  Kurt was tempted to scoff, but he knew the truth in Puckerman’s words.  He contemplated for a moment, then sighed.

“I don’t know that I want to open doors,” he admitted.  “I haven’t been enjoying the composition work I’ve been doing here, especially with this piece.”  He slumped in his seat, still conscientiously keeping himself a small distance away from Puckerman.  He’d learned within the first few days of working with the man that he was only really comfortable with physical contact when he initiated it.  Puckerman seemed to be aware of what he was doing, because he smiled slightly and nudged Kurt’s shoulder with his own.

“I think you have a great future ahead of you as a composer,” Puckerman said, his tone completely honest.  “You just haven’t had anyone working with you to make the most of your natural talents.  You’ve worked with a lot of men who were composers first and musicians second.  You’re the opposite.  You have a far better ability to create something in your head before putting it on paper than I do, but you’ve been told that you have to write it down, then play it through and see how it sounds.  As I said, that’s not how you should work.”  Kurt stared at him, unsure of how to respond.

“Give it a while longer,” Puckerman advised.  “I’ll help you with your memorial piece if you want, though only as much as you ask.  This will be your piece, in the end, and I want you to truly feel like it.”

“I suppose,” Kurt prevaricated, “it can’t really hurt to keep trying, especially if you are going to help me.”  Puckerman nodded in encouragement.

“Let’s start with this.  I know it’s an older piece and not what you’re writing for Mozart, but working on the problems you’re having with this might help inspire you.”  Puckerman flicked through the sheets of Kurt’s composition, making note of each spot where Kurt had rubbed out and rewritten notes, some only once, but most multiple times.

“You’ve got a great general direction here,” Puckerman said after a few minutes, “but you seem to keep get stuck on chords not resolving.  Why do you think that is?”  Kurt shrugged.

“I’ve always been like that.  I guess I just don’t understand what notes go with others.”  Kurt shrugged again, hunching his shoulders a bit in embarrassment.

“Don’t get like that, Hummel,” Puckerman said, a slight bit of sharpness in his tone.  “You play piano, so you know what notes you play in other pieces.  Just use that to help guide you.  For instance, here, where you’ve got the G-sharp.”  He pointed at a frequently erased series of notes about halfway through the piece.  “This is almost exactly like what Abrams did in his last piece, and I know you met him while you were in London.  I imagine he had you play it for him?”

Kurt was surprised that Puckerman knew anything about his time in London beyond the fact that he’d met Schuester and Finn there.  He had indeed met with Arthur Abrams, a young English composer who had come to seek Master Clementi’s advice on a generous offer of patronage from a nobleman he didn’t trust.  While Abrams had been staying with them, he and Kurt had struck up a companionable friendship, playing both their own pieces and each other’s’ and offering critiques and advice.  That experience had been part of why Kurt had been so eager to take up Schuester’s offer of joining the school.

While Kurt had been deep in thought, he had begun to mindlessly play the piece Puckerman had been referring to.  He knew it very well, because he had played it for Abrams several times while the young man worked on a particularly tricky passage.  Kurt hadn’t really realized that his own piece had been inspired by it, but as Puckerman had said, one of his passages was very similar to one of Abrams’.  As soon as he had finished the passage, Kurt dropped his hands from the keys, hearing his own piece in his head and how it should work.  He pulled the sheet music to him, quickly wiping out the incorrect notes and replacing them with the ones he knew would work.

“See?” Puckerman said, once Kurt had played through the section he had fixed, nodding and smiling when the previously problematic tones were no longer in evidence.  “You know what’s right and wrong because you’ve played pretty much everything.  Use that intuitive feeling, not your ear, to write and things should go better.

Kurt smiled and played the handful of notes again, then turned to thank Puckerman.  The other man was already half-way out the door, so Kurt let him go, feeling more than a bit puzzled as to why he hadn’t wanted to stay.  Kurt had thought that he and Puckerman were becoming friends, but Puckerman almost seemed to view him as a pupil rather than as a fellow composer.  Kurt turned back to the piano, feeling more than a little hurt but forcing himself to focus on his work.  After all, Puckerman wasn’t wrong about the fact that Kurt’s memorial piece would be his best chance to make himself known, and it would be foolish to give that away or to entrust it entirely to the help of a man he wasn’t even friends with.


	6. Tensions

****

Finn certainly wasn’t the brightest of Schuester’s test pupils, but Kurt knew that under his exterior presentation of a dullard, Finnegan Hudson was actually quite perceptive.  Three days after Kurt accepted Puckerman’s help, Finn tracked him down to one of the smaller practice rooms and sat down on the bench beside him.

“I thought you two were getting along now,” the tall man said bluntly, causing Kurt to miss a note in his playing.  “So why are you avoiding Puck?”  Kurt sighed and stopped playing, pushing back on the bench a bit so he could at least look at Finn.

“I don’t know why you insist on calling him that ridiculous nickname,” Kurt snapped.  “And I’m not avoiding him.  We’re just not friends the way you two are, so we don’t seek each other out when we’re not working together.”  His bristling was soothed slightly when Finn smiled gently at him.  Kurt didn’t know what it was about Finn that always put him at ease, but it was a quality he envied.

“You’re not friends yet, maybe, but you could be, and you were getting there.  So what did Puck do?”

“ _Puckerman_ ,” Kurt emphasized, “decided to offer me his gracious help, then left without a word before I could thank him.”  Dropping his gaze to his hands, Kurt shrugged in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner.  “I think I might have been the one who did something wrong, though I don’t know what.  I just don’t want to push him to speak to me if he’s upset with me.”

“Even if he was, it won’t last long,” Finn reassured him.  “That’s part of the reason I call him Puck – he’s usually in a good mood and he forgets any insults to him as soon as he feels like he’s got his own back.  But I don’t think it’s you that upset him, if that makes you feel any better.”  Kurt quirked an eyebrow inquisitively.

“What makes you say that?” Kurt asked, genuinely interested in the answer.  Puckerman had been avoiding Kurt as much as Kurt himself had been avoiding him, so Kurt had presumed that his first instinct had been correct and Puckerman was upset with him.  Hearing otherwise had faint hope twisting in his stomach.

“Well, for one thing he hasn’t asked me to help plan any sort of prank or trick, which is usually what he does when he’s upset with someone.”  Finn’s candid answer startled a laugh out of Kurt, who quickly subsided once he saw that Finn had more to say.

“He’s been acting like he’s seen a ghost the past few days.  That usually means that something has reminded him of his father.”  Kurt shifted in discomfort.  He and Puckerman had talked about the subject, of course, but it had been more than obvious that the older man was not fond of reminiscing about the past, and Kurt had been quick to avoid even coming close to bringing family up in conversation.  He felt like it was better for him to be over respectful of Puckerman’s clear pain than to risk alienating the man over a poorly thought out comment.  But now Finn was bringing it up, and he was Puck friend, so surely he would know what was appropriate.

“Look,” Finn said, drawing Kurt’s attention back to him, “you don’t have to bring it up with him.  Just stop avoiding him, and he’ll sort it out in his own time.  He just needs to know that you don’t resent him for whatever it is he thinks he’s done.”  Finn’s smile was contagious, and Kurt found himself returning it weakly and agreeing to at least be open to talking to Puckerman, even if he wasn’t ready to initiate any contact.

Of course, Puckerman approached him later that day, undoubtedly told by Finn that Kurt wasn’t upset with him.  Kurt suppressed his instinct to avoid him again, standing still and trying to smile as the man lead him to one of the quieter practice rooms.

“Look, I’m sorry for whatever it was that I did,” Kurt burst out as soon as they had stopped and Puckerman had closed the door.  The look he got in return was one of complete confusion, tinged with more than a bit of surprise.

“You didn’t do anything that I know of,” Puckerman said, brow furrowed.  “In fact, I need to apologize to you for my behaviour.”  Kurt scoffed slightly, flapping his hand in dismissal, but Puckerman grabbed it, letting go as soon as Kurt dropped it in shock.

“I don’t know of anything you have to apologize for,” Kurt told him, once it was clear that Puckerman was lost for words.  The other man blinked at him, appearing to come back to his senses.

“I snapped at you when you were trying to work on your piece,” Puckerman stated bluntly, seeming to think his simple phrase sufficient explanation.  It was Kurt’s turn to blink in surprise, completely taken aback.

“You were perhaps a little stern with me, but certainly nothing to apologize for,” Kurt said.  “In fact, you were kinder than any Master I’ve worked with.  A little bit of sharpness isn’t unwarranted, especially when you’ve got a student being as obtuse as I was.”  He tried a small smile, though it wasn’t returned by Puckerman.

“Look,” he sighed after a few moments’ silence.  “I appreciate your apology and hold no ill will toward you for your behaviour.  I would like to keep working with you, but if this has tainted things too much for that to be a possibility, I understand and can continue to make myself scarce while you’re around.”  That was enough to snap Puckerman out of whatever downward spiral he’d been trapped in, and his head and hand came up at the same time, the latter catching hold of Kurt’s wrist.

“No, I don’t need you to avoid me,” the man rushed out, his grip tightening for a moment, then loosening until his fingers were just barely curled around Kurt’s wrist.  “I just - I don’t want to be like _him_ , especially to you.”  From the way his jaw tightened, Kurt knew who the ‘him’ was, and he knew that Puckerman wasn’t likely to speak of it further, so he simply noted to himself that Finn had been right, then smiled again at Puckerman.

“Alright then,” he said simply, turning his hand so that he could fit his fingers around Puckerman’s to give them a gentle squeeze.  He was expecting the other man to pull back at the reminder that he was touching Kurt, but instead the squeeze was returned before Puckerman slid his hand up and along Kurt’s arm to his elbow, where he took firm hold and began to lead Kurt along.

“Where are we going?” Kurt asked after a moment, more than a little confused.

“Did Finn not tell you?  He’s asked you and me to help him with one of his pieces.”  Kurt huffed out a half-laugh, his annoyance at not having been informed mollified by the fact that Finn had instead spent his time explaining the situation with Puckerman.

“I think he might be better off with just you, Puckerman, and maybe he knows that as well.”  Kurt bit his lip once the words were out, disliking the self-pitying tone in what was meant to be a self-effacing joke.  Puckerman stopped and turned to look at Kurt, his face dark.

“Finn’s not like that and neither am I,” he said sternly, though with no real sharpness.  Kurt blushed and ducked his head nonetheless, stammering out something that was meant to be an apology but probably came out more as a series of disconnected words.  Puckerman seemed to understand, though, because he gently squeezed Kurt’s elbow to draw his face upward.

“I do prefer Puck from my friends, as I’m sure Finn has mentioned.”  It wasn’t an apology, or acceptance of Kurt’s, but in its own way it was better, and Kurt found himself grinning as he was once again towed down the hall.

There wasn’t as much awkwardness during the session with Finn as Kurt had expected, and he left with Finn’s arm slung around his shoulder and Puck on the other side of the tall man, laughing at something he’d said.  Kurt felt comfortable in a way he hadn’t in years, and as the three of them separated to work of their own pieces, he found himself humming something he didn’t think he’d ever actually heard before.

Cognisant of his instinct to panic and lose the music, Kurt focussed on which practice room he was heading to.  He knew that a few of them would be in use, but the one he was heading for, the one with the particularly mellow sounding piano, should be empty.  There still weren’t enough young musicians and composers using the building to use up all of the rooms, though more were arriving every day, so he’d done his best to make it known that that particular room was his preferred one and that he would appreciate it being left open when there were other options.  He was one of the best known of the young men and occasional young women who passed through, as well as being one of the original few chosen specifically by Schuester, so his polite request was generally heeded.

As it was today, the room quiet and slightly cool, showing that nobody had come in and restocked the small wood stove since Kurt was in last.  He was quick to open the door on the steel box and shovel in some of the small pellets from a bucket next to the stove, then lay heavier logs once the pellets had caught.  The fall had been a cold one so far, quickly giving way to what was sure to be a harsh winter, and Kurt was glad that Schuester had equipped all the practice rooms with the little stoves, an American innovation that was slowly making its way across the ocean.  Schuester had visited America years ago, Kurt had heard, and obviously brought back more than a few ideas.

With the room sufficiently warm, Kurt sat down at the piano at began to play the tune that had been running through his head.  At first he was hesitant, picking out notes here and there to hear how they sounded together.  When the melody didn’t leave him at his first faltering attempts, though, he began to play with more confidence, allowing the music to flow through him naturally, like he did when he was playing another composer’s piece.  With his mind on what his fingers were doing, rather than what they were producing, he played through the music in his head completely.  By the time he’d finished, he felt rather pleased with what he’d produced, though he was sure there was something missing.

“It would be better with string accompaniment, but well done nonetheless.”


	7. Counterpoint

****

It was Puck, of course it was, and he simply smiled when Kurt whirled to look at him.  Kurt gaped, mouth opening and closing around words that wouldn’t come, as Puck slowly came closer, finally pushing him over to free space at one end of the piano bench.

“I think it would be fantastic with strings,” Puck said, turning to the piano and beginning to play the song Kurt had just finished.  “Starting here,” he hit one of the notes with extra force, “and providing a counterpoint melody.”  He started playing a variant, and Kurt took up his original piece without much thought.  The two parts melded well, though Kurt could easily see where the plaintive tones of a violin would enhance the small contrasts.  Or a viola, he thought, casting a glance at Puck out of the corner of his eye.  It would be an enjoyable way to cement the shaky bond of friendship they’d developed, he knew, but he still wasn’t sure he could count on Puck, not the way he would need to.  He knew some of Puck’s history, but not most of it, and he couldn’t help but feel that the other man was holding some things back.

Kurt knew, though, that he himself was holding parts of himself back, the way he had from every person he’d met over the past few years.  He could justify it as having to protect himself, that admitting the direction in which his interests lay could cost him everything, but what was to say that the same wasn’t true of whatever it was that Puck was hiding?

“Would you mind playing that with your viola?” Kurt asked as they finished the song, decision made even before he really knew it.  Puck looked briefly surprised, but the expression was quickly replaced with a grin, and he hurried out of the room, returning only a few minutes later with his viola.

“Shall we, then?” he asked, once he was set up in a comfortable chair.  Kurt smiled at him and turned to the piano, beginning the song once again.  The third time playing through it really solidified what he wanted in his mind, and he knew he’d be able to write it down later without needing to erase and rewrite notes multiple times.  The addition of the viola was nigh on perfect, though there were a couple of passages that Kurt wanted to refine further in order to bring them in line with the piano melody.  Still, it was the first time he could ever remember feeling happy with a piece immediately after creating it.

"That was fantastic!" he said, turning to Puck with a bright grin.  He was surprised to see a faint frown on the other man's face given how eager he'd seemed earlier.  Within a moment, though, it disappeared and Kurt was left to wonder if he'd actually seen it or if he'd just misinterpreted a look of concentration or deep thought

"It was, wasn't it?" Puck asked, smiling now.  Kurt nodded vigorously and reached out a hand.

"Thank you," he said as sincerely as possible.  Puck took his hand with only a slight hesitation, so Kurt shook it gently, giving it a quick squeeze before letting go.  “Truly, I think your advice has helped.” Puck looked almost suspicious behind his smile, so Kurt let himself babble on.

“I’m glad to have been of service,” Puck said once Kurt finally stopped talking, his voice odd but his smile still in place.  “I should go, I told Finn I was just going to check on you then we could head out for dinner.  Unless you would like to join us?”  Kurt considered the offer briefly, but ended up shaking his head.

“I should get this down on paper before I lose my confidence in it,” he said.  “Thank you for your help, and for the offer.  I would love to have you play the viola part if I get to perform it at some point, if you would like?”  Puck’s smile broadened a bit and he nodded once, definitively, before leaving to meet up with Finn.  Kurt moved to the small table in the corner and pulled a few sheets of paper over in front of him.  He quickly drew staves on it, one for the piano and one for the viola, and began to copy the music down, humming it as he went.

Kurt was leaving the practice room late one evening when he heard Puck’s voice coming from around the corner of one of the hallways.  He stopped walking, hesitating in indecision, wanting to know why Puck wasn’t out with Finn as he’d said he would be, but knowing that he was probably best to just keep going.

“It’s fantastic,” Puck said, drawing Kurt’s attention back to the fact that he was still standing in the middle of the hall.  He shifted over to the side, leaning up against the wall and spreading out the papers in his hand to appear to be checking over his piece.  He felt a flash of guilt, but reminded himself that it wasn’t exactly like Puck and whomever he was talking to were in a private area.  From what he could tell, they were just standing in the middle of another hallway, not exactly the sort of spot one would pick if one was actually concerned about being overheard.

“Seriously?  Hummel wrote something _fantastic_?  Are you sure you didn’t dream this all up?” the other man asked.  Kurt couldn’t place his voice, which meant it was probably a new student, or someone from outside the school.

“As hard as it may be to believe, yes.  And it’s going to change a lot of things.  So give me a bit of time, and let me use this to our advantage.  It will be worth it.”

Kurt pressed himself fully against the wall, blinking back sudden tears.  He and Puck were supposed to be presenting his piece to Schuester and several of his very influential friends and former patrons in two days.  He couldn’t easily replace the other man at this point, but given what he’d just heard, he wasn’t entirely sure he could trust him, though it had at least sounded like Puck needed the performance to go well for his own plans as well.

He probably would have steeled himself, forced down the feelings of betrayal, and continued on with things as they were.  But Puck came around the corner, his face blank until he saw Kurt, then morphing into a horrible combination of shame, guilt, and anger.

“How much of that did you hear?” he asked bluntly.  Kurt ducked his head, staring intently at the papers in his hands for a long moment, before raising his head to give Puck a defiant look.

“Everything from it being a surprise that I wrote something good and on.”  Puck winced at that, the mask of anger on his face dropping as he sighed.

“I know you don’t owe me any trust, but if you don’t mind taking this conversation somewhere private, I can at least try to explain.”  Puck’s tone was so pained that Kurt couldn’t help but nod, even though he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to hear what the other man had to say.  Puck escorted him into one of the nearby practice rooms, shutting the door behind Kurt once they were both inside.

“Well?” Kurt said after a long moment of silence, gesturing for Puck to start talking.  The other man started slightly, then rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“This isn’t exactly easy to explain, but the long and the short of it is that the man I was talking to is the one who is currently pretending to be the father of my daughter.”  Kurt’s face must have showed his confusion, because Puck laughed mirthlessly and waved his hand airily.  “Like I said, not easy to understand.  Suffice it to say, I got a woman pregnant but she wouldn’t marry me.  Instead, she married that boor because he had the money to take care of her, and told him that Beth was his.  Unfortunately for her, he isn’t stupid and I didn’t just give up on my daughter.”  He paused and looked at Kurt, who nodded encouragingly, intrigued to find out just how this would all tie in with the conversation he’d heard.

“Well, he’s nothing if not a clever negotiator, and once he found out who I am and what I do, he made a deal with me.  I can see my daughter, but I’ve got to help make him the man known for bringing new musicians, new composers, into society.  Finn was one of the first of my friends I brought to one of his parties, and it’s where Schuester first saw him.  Hard to believe that was only a year and a half ago.”

“And you want to bring me, at some point after tomorrow’s performance?” Kurt asked, raising his eyebrows.  Puck grinned at that, a smile so genuinely gleeful that Kurt blinked at him in shock.

“Tomorrow’s performance is at one of his parties, and always was going to be.  He just didn’t know that.”  Kurt found himself returning the sly smirk that Puck gave.

“I’m sorry,” Puck eventually said.  “I really should have warned you that I knew the man who would be hosting our performance, even if I wasn’t going to tell you the whole sordid tale.”  Kurt waved his hand.

“Probably, but at least I only felt betrayed and fooled for a few minutes.  In fact, it seems rather anti-climactic that you were able to explain things so quickly.”  Kurt paused and jokingly gave Puck a suspicious look, before smiling.

“You know the climax of this story is going to be when we impress everyone tomorrow,” Puck said, smiling back.

“I know,” Kurt told him, truly believing it.


	8. Performances

****

For all that Kurt didn’t get nervous before performances, he couldn’t deny that there was an edge of adrenaline keeping him hyper-aware as he followed Puck and Master Schuester into the gathering.  The large ballroom was packed full of people, the only open space in the square marked out as the dance floor by decorative tiles.  Kurt trailed right behind Puck, letting the other man use his broader shoulders and dark glare to part a path through the crowd.  They made their way to a door tucked behind a pillar near the small dais, where Schuester left them with directions to the room the host had prepared for them.

As soon as they opened the door, Puck left out an oath that had Kurt’s eyes widening in shock.

“I think I might have done too good of a job convincing Mr. Evans that you have promise.  He’s courting you.”  Puck ushered Kurt into the room, which was quite well set up, with lushly upholstered furniture, trays of delicacies, and even chilled bottles of wine and a dewy decanter of water.

“Does he really expect us to use or want all of this?” Kurt asked, running his fingers over the condensation dripping from the water.

“No, he just wants to show off, to prove that he could be a good patron.  As I said, he’s smart and he knows how to gain influence, and you’re probably going to be sought after.  Why not try to convince you to work for him before you have any other real options.”

“It’s a pity for him that I have no interest in any offer he might make, then,” Kurt snorted, dropping himself into one of the chairs.  Puck’s expression flickered briefly, and he sat in the chair facing Kurt’s with more grace.

“I don’t want you to feel like you can’t work for him,” Puck started, holding up a hand when Kurt went to protest.  “He hasn’t done me any favours, no, but he doesn’t owe me them.  He cares about Quinn and Beth, and he does right by them.  He does let me see Beth, even if he asks for quid pro quo.  And from what I’ve heard of the composers he’s been a patron for, he’s fair if not overly generous.  He’s not a bad man, just not a particularly good one either.  If you don’t mind that and the offer he makes is a good one, then you should take it if you want to.”  Kurt frowned.

“No, I don’t think I could, knowing what he’s done to you, even if it’s in the name of protecting his family.  There are better ways he could have handled the situation, and the fact that he chose to use you doesn’t speak well of him.”  Puck smiled at that, reaching out to gently squeeze Kurt’s shoulder.

“Besides,” Kurt added, “your name is on this piece as well.  You helped compose it.  I doubt it will make as much of an impact as you think, and even if it does, you will be just as valuable and interesting as I am.”  He smiled triumphantly at Puck, who smirked back.

“I might have done something about that,” the other man admitted.  Kurt smile immediately disappeared, and he frowned at Puck instead.  “And that’s why I didn’t tell you until now.”  Puck waved his hand and Kurt’s expression and shifted in his seat, obviously uncomfortable.  “I told you when I first started helping you - you’re the one who needs a big break.  Not because you’re not talented enough to get attention without it, but because you won’t believe in your talent consistently enough to really do everything you’re capable of without one.”

“And I’ll believe in my talent when I’m presenting a piece that you helped write as my own?” Kurt challenged, bringing his chin up in a defiant move.  Puck just shook his head, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly.

“No.  This is just the prelude.  This will bring you to peoples’ attention.  Your next piece, the memorial piece for Mozart, will be what finally proves to you that you are actually capable.”

Before Kurt could respond, the door opened and a tall man was entering.  Kurt was surprised to see that the man wasn’t much older than Puck, given that he’d expected to be greeted by the host, and the way Puck had described Mr. Evans had made him seem far too powerful for such a young man.  Kurt’s expectations were quickly altered when the man held out his hand to Kurt with a smile.

“Samuel Evans,” he introduced himself, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”  Kurt was slightly surprised to hear him speaking English, as French was the preferred language among the upper class and nobles, but it made sense seeing as Mr. Evans was originally from England.

“Pleasure to meet you as well,” Kurt said, knowing that his English was heavily accented but not wanting to be so rude as to respond in another language.  He owed Schuester at least the appearance of politeness, and given what Puck had said earlier, he thought he’d be better to err further on the side of being more polite than he really wanted to.

“I’ve heard great things about you, Master Hummel,” Evans said.  The title was enough for Kurt to raise an eyebrow.  Puck had been entirely right in thinking that Evans was trying to court him, it seemed.  It was well established principle that a composer or musician’s last Master was the first to bestow the honourary title or, if he were unable for some reason, peers of the honouree.  Never a patron or a client, and certainly not with a composer who was as untested as Kurt.

“Mister Hummel,” Kurt corrected, quickly softening it with, “my father’s the Master.”  It drew a smile out of Evans, so Kurt stepped back a pace and gestured to the door in order to keep things moving.

“Are you ready for us to perform, Mister Evans?” he asked politely, not looking over at Puck, but judging his reactions from the corner of his eye.  Puck was just sitting there, though his eyes were watching Evans steadily.

“Of course, Mister Hummel.  If you’ll follow me?”  Evans’ voice was still polite, but it wasn’t quite as warm.  He could probably tell that Kurt wasn’t interested and was off-put by it.  Kurt didn’t mind, so long as Evans didn’t have anything to complain to Schuester about.

“Thank you,” he said with that in mind, following Evans as he turned and headed back down the hall.  Puck trailed after them, though he reached out to touch Kurt’s elbow just as they were leaving the room, and his expression was one of gratitude when Kurt cast a look back over his shoulder.

Evans led them to a door that opened at the back of the dais, opening it for them but not leading them through.  The piano was vacant, and a small stool had been set up for Puck with a stand in front of it.  Kurt hesitated briefly before steeling himself and walking through the door.  The majority of the party guests were still talking amongst themselves, so he was able to get himself situated before the low hum of chatter began to subside.  Puck took a few moments longer to set himself up with his viola, looking up at Kurt expectantly once he was done.  Kurt drew in a deep breath and then nodded, setting his fingers to the keys and closing his eyes briefly to centre himself.

The familiarity of the melody soothed him, and by the time Puck came in with his accompaniment, Kurt was smiling softly, his eyes fixed on his friend, making sure that they stayed in time.  Puck looked up and caught his eyes after a few bars, and smiled back, not looking back down at his viola until he reached a particularly complicated section.  It was enough to prompt Kurt to look back down at his own hands, watching the tendons in them flex and release as he played.

Kurt had expected to feel more tense playing his own music for an actual audience, but as he transitioned into the third movement, he realised that he was more relaxed than even his norm.  It felt like the music was part of him, like his mind didn’t even have to focus on the notes that his fingers were producing.  Kurt looked up again to see Puck watching him, a faint smile on his face, and he couldn’t help responding with an even broader grin of his own.  Once again, they locked eyes, the music swelling around them and dragging them along through to the end.

Kurt felt a little breathless when he finally pulled his hands from the keys, and he had to look down to collect his sheet music because they were shaking slightly.  Puck seemed to be in slightly better condition, but he still took longer than usual to sort out his music as well.  They’d agreed to play one of Schuester’s older compositions with Finn accompanying them on flute, so they pulled out the music for that while Finn emerged onto the dais, carrying his stand with him.  He took it everywhere when he had his flute or violin with him, preferring to play standing up and needing a stand that was tall enough to hold the music at the right height.

After their piece with Finn was done, the guests applauded as Puck and Kurt bowed and gathered their things.  Finn was staying to perform another piece with Master Schuester, but Puck and Kurt slipped out the door in the back wall and headed back to the room they’d initially been escorted to.  Most of the food and drink had been taken away, but the pitcher of water was still there, as was the furniture.  Kurt slumped onto one of the couches, reaching across to pour himself a glass of water.  Puck dropped down beside him, far closer than he’d usually sit, and Kurt took a quick sip of his water before turning to his friend.

“That was incre...”  Puck took Kurt’s face in his hands and kissed him, interrupting the younger man.  Kurt’s heart stuttered and he dropped his glass of water, not even hearing it shatter as it hit the floor.  He was just beginning to react and reach for Puck when the other man pulled back, quickly getting up off the couch.  Kurt started to reach for him, but Puck’s expression turned horrified and he quickly ran from the room, leaving Kurt sitting on the couch and staring at the door.

And all Kurt could think was ‘Oh.’


	9. Double Bar

****

If Kurt thought Puck had been avoiding him back when he’d snapped at Kurt, the older man was certainly proving him wrong.  Even Finn wouldn’t help Kurt find him, just shaking his head with a sad look and saying that Puck had been avoiding him as well.  The only reason Kurt even believed he was still in Vienna was that Schuester had confirmed that Puck had continued to meet and work with him, though the Master had refused to say anything further.

At first, it had hurt, but as the days melted into weeks, Kurt began to get frustrated, and then outright angry.  He knew that his attraction to men was supposedly a sin, and that if anyone knew about it he would be in danger, as would anyone who was the same.  But he hadn’t been the one to kiss Puck, and he hadn’t breathed a word of what had happened to anyone, as much for the other man’s sake as for his own.  He knew logically that Puck was likely dealing with his own issues, related to the kiss or not, but emotionally it didn’t matter.

Kurt turned to composing to let out his emotions.  The first few pieces that flowed out through his fingers were discarded once he’d played them a few times, too atonal and off-beat to ever be worth committing to paper.  The fourth piece was good, if not great, and he wrote it down quickly, putting it aside to work on later.  The worst of his feelings had been purged, and he felt a tickle at the back of his mind, the beginnings of a piece that might eventually emerge.

Instead of focusing on it, he put on his heavy coat, scarf and hat and went for a walk.  Winter was closing in fast on Vienna, the streets quiet and dark despite the relatively early hour.  It was a strange feeling for Kurt, walking alone and wrapped in darkness through streets that were so familiar to him.  Eventually, he found himself in front of the house that he’d lived in with Master Mozart and his family.  He blinked and looked around, not having realized that he’d walked so far.  He was comfortably warm under his coat, so he leaned against the front gate, staring at the house.  There were lights on inside and shapes moving around, those of a family he presumed.  He knew it wasn’t the Mozarts anymore, knew that Constanze and the two children were living in the countryside and that Amadé was interred elsewhere in the city, but he could still remember being inside on similarly cold nights, sitting next to the fire with Karl and listening to the Master play.

Without really thinking about it, Kurt started to hum an old nursery song, one that quickly modulated into something more.  He smiled sadly, and gave the house one last long look before heading back towards the school building.  He knew what he was going to write next, and if Puck were around, he would have been proud.  Kurt was ready to write his memorial piece.

It took him most of the night to get the music in his head down on paper, but when he was done, Kurt was quite pleased with what he’d produced.  It was slow and haunting for the most part, but it spoke to how he had felt, to look at the windows of that house and know that Mozart was no longer there, that he wouldn’t ever be there again.

If Puck were there, Kurt would have asked his opinion, but in his absence he got Finn to come critique it.  Finn went beyond even his normal enthusiasm - by the end of the song he had tears in his eyes and was grinning through them.

“You did it, Kurt, you really did,” he whispered as he hugged Kurt tightly and left.  Kurt couldn’t help but smile - he really had written the piece that he’d been fighting with for months, and with a relative lack of struggle and strife.  The victory still felt a bit hollow without Puck there to share it, but it was enough for him to brave Schuester’s private quarters in order to show him the piece.

Kurt stood behind the door out into the ballroom, restlessly rubbing his hands along the sides of his legs as an outlet for his nerves.  Schuester had organized this presentation incredibly quickly, only three days after Kurt had given him his composition, and Kurt had never felt so unprepared for a performance.  He knew that it was likely because this was the first time he would perform a piece that was entirely his own in front of a real audience, but the logic wasn’t helping him calm down.  Virtually everyone he knew in Vienna was here - except, of course, for the one person he’d hoped would come.

“Are you ready, Kurt?” Schuester asked, and Kurt looked up sharply.  He’d been so deep in thought that he hadn’t even heard the door open, and by the look on the Master’s face, he knew it.

“As ready as I can be,” Kurt replied, taking in one last deep breath and forcibly relaxing himself before following Schuester through the door.

The lamps in the ballroom had been turned down, discouraging the sort of socializing that usually occurred, focusing everyone on the piano framed by fully-lit lamps.  Kurt hesitated for a brief moment, his steady steps hitching, before he continued on alone to take his seat in front of the piano.  He vaguely heard Schuester introducing himself, Kurt, and the piece, but all of his attention was taken by the dark shape in the back corner of the ballroom, one he was sure he recognized.

He tore his eyes away after a long moment and, with a brief glance to confirm that Schuester was done speaking, began to play.

It wasn’t as intense as playing with Puck had been, but Kurt still felt himself get caught up in the music, letting the images it brought to mind run through him.  Through it all, he kept his eyes on the figure in the back, one he was more and more sure was Puck.  He knew he should probably be angry that the man had avoided him for well over a week only to show up now, but he’d missed Puck, and that fact combined with the emotions of the song to make him feel little more than sad.

When Puck left the room the moment Kurt hit the last note, though, the anger flared up, bright and steady.  He quickly stood and took his bow, feigning tears in order to partially explain his quick departure.  As soon as he was through the back door, he took off in a run.  He thought he knew where Puck would be heading, and if he moved quickly enough, he could cut him off.  Mentally, he thanked Schuester for holding this performance in the school building, as he was able to dart around corners and through rooms with a good idea of what would be in his way and where the shortest path led.

He caught Puck just outside the front doors, practically jumping into the other man and knocking them both to the ground.  As soon as he reoriented himself, Kurt grabbed Puck’s hand and dragged him into a nearby room, shutting the door behind them.

“Kurt... Hummel, what in the world?”  Puck seemed confused, but Kurt heard the fear underneath it.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Kurt burst out.  “No discussion, no warning, you just disappeared.  I could have accepted that you blamed me for what happened and thought I infected you, or that you actually didn’t care for me in anyway, but then you wouldn’t have shown up here tonight.  So perhaps you should answer your own question and tell me what in the world is going on.”  Kurt defiantly brought his chin up, watching as Puck’s face flickered from anger to fear and finally to acceptance.

“I didn’t want to get too close,” Puck began, then stopped and sighed.  “I never want to get too close.  There’s so many things about myself that I need to hide.  Even Finn doesn’t know half my secrets.”

“I know about Beth,” Kurt pointed out.  Puck huffed out a humourless laugh.

“That’s the least of my concerns.  That at least is normal, if not considered acceptable.  Kurt - I... I like men, in the way I like women.  The way the Bible says is a sin.”

“So do I,” Kurt said softly.  “And I know it’s supposed to be wrong, but I just can’t understand how.  I can hardly hate you for being the same as I.  You don’t need to fear me.”

“That’s not all,” Puck told him, holding out a hand to stop Kurt, who had slowly been advancing.  “I...”  He stopped, and then continued in a bare whisper, so quiet Kurt had to lean in to hear him.  “I’m Jewish, and not at all noble.”

Kurt tilted his head in confusion.  “So?” he asked.  “I didn’t think you were noble - van doesn’t mean the same thing as von, after all.”

“Nobody would listen to what I write if they knew,” Puck said, shrugging and spreading his hands.  “Surely you’ve noticed that the few composers who admit to being Jewish don’t have much success.  The only reason I’m here is because I’ve hidden it, because my father and mother went to great lengths to hide our ancestry.”

“I...” Kurt hesitated, his breath catching in his throat.  “I know it matters to them, but it doesn’t to me.  You’ve been a true friend, given me advice and help.  I think we could be more, if we’re willing to risk it and try.  I missed you, when you were avoiding me.  I thought you were afraid of me, or hated me, or blamed me.”  Puck dropped his eyes, a faint flush making its way across his face.

“I was afraid of your reaction,” he admitted, glancing up at Kurt.  Kurt huffed a half-laugh half-sigh and stepped close enough to rest his hand on Puck’s shoulder.  When Puck didn’t shift away, Kurt slid his hand up and along his shoulder and neck until he was cradling the taller man’s jaw.

“This would have been my reaction,” Kurt said, his voice barely above a whisper, then leaned in and captured Puck’s mouth.


	10. Epilogue - Coda

****

“You’re late,” Kurt said mildly, looking up as Puck came in the door.  They’d purchased the townhouse together two years ago, pooling their resources to afford it.  It was a fair-sized affair, with three bedrooms, a parlour, and a generous kitchen space.  They nominally maintained their own rooms, though they actually slept together in Puck’s.  It was a good enough ruse - nobody really thought much of two up-and-coming composers sharing in-city living space, especially when they frequently worked and performed together.  The only person who knew the truth was Finn, and even that had been because he’d stopped by one evening without announcing himself and walked in on Puck and Kurt together.  He’d been surprisingly unperturbed by it all, although given the fact that he’d come over to announce his engagement, it might not have actually been because he didn’t care.

“I swear Rachel is a singer because she just likes to hear her own voice,” Puck said, dropping down next to Kurt.  “Why Finn married her, I will never know.”  Kurt winced in sympathy.  He’d only worked with Rachel Hudson, née Berry, once before swearing off any choral works, not in the least because of her.

“You’re almost done with that piece, right?” Kurt asked, stroking his fingers through Puck’s hair as the other man laid his head in Kurt’s lap.  “Why don’t we do a bit of a tour around afterwards, perform some of our pieces and otherwise relax.  We’ll have to be more careful than we are here, but it will still be good to get away from all the insanity you’ve been through.”

Puck hummed his consent, which was enough for Kurt, who settled back.  He couldn’t help but contemplate his life, comparing it against what he’d expected when he’d studied with Mozart. Truthfully, he’d expected more fame, but also far less love.

In the end, he supposed, it all balanced out, much like music.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks once again to Karen for cleaning up my mess of a first draft, and [patchfire](http://patchfire.livejournal.com/) for her fantastic graphics and fanmix. If you haven't listened to it yet, [do it now](http://patchfire.livejournal.com/767026.html)!


End file.
